


drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart

by astele



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: 5 Times, Biting, Blood, Choking, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dom/sub Undertones, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Don't Try This At Home, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, I Don't Even Know, Idiots in Love, Inquisitor AU, Jealousy, Kissing, Minor Violence, No Plot/Plotless, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Pegging, Possessive Behavior, Rope Bondage, Teasing, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21818383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astele/pseuds/astele
Summary: 5 times they lived in denial + the one time they kinda didn't(inquisitor au)
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri | Second Sister
Comments: 9
Kudos: 94





	drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart

**Author's Note:**

> ohhhhhhh boy. this is possibly my worst piece of writing but here we go again!
> 
> i don't even know this is just kinda word vomit. however it is also a gift to myself now bc i love me <3

1\. 

It was another one of her condescending comments that brought everything to a head. 

When he had twisted her hands in her lapels and brought himself snarling to meet her face, he hadn’t particularly planned far enough ahead to decide his attack. Which is how he justification the decision to smash his lips against hers, eyes burning with challenge as he bit down on her lip, hard. 

She hadn’t been particularly fond of that little detail. 

That is how he had found himself shoved against a wall hard enough to draw the breath from his lungs and break his grip. Her nails had dug into his skin as she kept his wrists beside his head and practically hissed in his face. Cal could see the way her shoulders were heaving as she tried to breathe through barely contained rage, eyes never leaving his as a trail of blood dripped off her bottom lip. 

With nothing to lose at this point, he gave her a smile that was all teeth. 

She lunged, and this time when their mouths met, he regretted his previous decisions. Trilla had obviously taken some inspiration. Attempting to pull away resulted in her applying more pressure and so he had no choice but to co-operate or risk her genuinely mauling him. He squirmed in her grip, seeing if he could make a strike and run for it. In return, he received a firm knee against the stomach and a warning growl, and so taking the hint, he relaxed into her grip. 

When she let go, she didn’t pull away, and they stared each other down, centimetres apart. For once between the two of them, there was a brief moment of silence, both of them struggling to catch their breath and not willing to give the other the satisfaction of a misstep in this new scenario. 

Cal couldn’t help but feel a little admiration for her like this. Usually there was the cold, competent put together act between her and the world. Now, in this moment, she had that bared teeth and eyes ablaze look he knew was always lying beneath the surface. She was always more tolerable when she properly let go. 

Anger burnt for the time being, he considered his options here. Trilla was a proud creature, and unlikely to let him walk away from this unless she had convinced herself that she had reasserted her dominance in the situation. Unless he appeased her rather quickly, he was unlikely to walk away from this without being seriously maimed. 

Decision made he leaned back towards her slowly. It was a good sign when she watched silently. Carefully, he paused, before nonchalantly licking the blood off of the corner of her mouth. He felt a twitch of what he could only assume to be surprise in the fingers holding him in place and satisfied that he had caught her attention in a good way for once, dropped his gaze down. 

There was a quiet snort of derision, and then she stepped back, letting him go. When he glanced back up at her again, the mask had fallen back into place and she was watching him with unreadable eyes. A quick turn and she was gone, head held high and back turned signifying she obviously thought him properly chastised.

Cal could only lick his lips and consider the fact that the tinge of iron wasn’t just his. 

2.

Trilla was particularly good at inducing anticipation that hurt. He couldn’t help but hope he was the only one who received this particular brand of her ability to create suspense.

“Tri-lla,” he begged, drawing out the syllables in a way that only happened when he truly was beginning to lose his bravado. He really should’ve known better. Through half-lidded eyes and a slight blur of on-coming tears, he could see a familiar smirk that let him know that relief wasn’t coming any time soon. She was going to draw this out for as long as humanly possible and enjoy it too. 

It had started off as innocent as it came for them. Sparring was really just an excuse to have a genuine go at each other, and she had always been a sore loser. It wasn’t uncommon for Cal to end up on his back with her pinning into submission. 

This was new, however. 

He’d been surprised when she’d kissed him, but it hadn’t been unwelcome. When she pressed closer against him however, that had drawn out a hopeful, uncertain whine. Feeling her lips curve into a smirk, he’d kissed her back fervently, any concerned thoughts leaving out the window. 

When he’d reached to touch her, she’d slapped his hand back firmly. Warning taken, he closed his eyes and let her kiss down his throat, whimpering slightly when she decided to let her hands roam. His breath had hitched, and he’d pressed against her, eyes snapping open to give her a pleading look. 

She had the smile of a predator that had just caught its prey in a planned ambush. 

When she paused, a feeling of dread settled with the anticipation glowering in his stomach. She leaned into a light kiss, breathing out lightly against his lips one simple word.  
“Beg.” 

Squirming against her, he tried to get her to grant him even a little mercy. A snicker. She held firm, patiently waiting for him to acquiesce. 

“Better start begging before I get bored,” she teased in a whisper, radiating pure smugness. 

It took three more attempts before painful frustration had him giving him. She had just shaken her head with mock disappointment and sighed, telling him to try harder. 

“Trilla, please, I- please?” He tried again, before gasping when lightly ran her hand down across his hip. “Please, _please_ , please, I’ll do anything- “ 

“Anything?” She interrupted. He nodded feverishly, ignoring the glint in her eyes. 

She leaned into the shell of his ear, breathing softly while he tensed. “You can suffer.”

With that, weight lifted off him and she was already on her feet. She gave him a look of mock pity, eyes running up to his face. 

“Have a good evening,” she laughed, ignoring him calling out for her indignantly behind her. 

3.

Trilla was a possessive creature by nature. He had enough scars and bite marks and scratches underneath his uniform to attest to that. Quite frankly, he didn’t see the purpose, but as the one reaping the benefits, he had chosen to keep his mouth shut for once. 

He had never particularly felt the same desire. As it turns out, it was because he had not been given the proper motivation. 

She had never shown any particular interest in most other living beings. 

Something dark and foreign uncoiled slowly in his chest as he watched the scene before him. A few things instantly set him on edge. Firstly, Trilla was not wearing her helmet, something extremely unusual around those she considered to be lesser than herself (which was everyone, he thought sardonically). Secondly, Trilla was talking to someone outside of a mission or interrogation room, when typically, she had very little interest in normal human socialization at all. 

Thirdly, she had just genuinely laughed 

He couldn’t decipher from where he was what they were talking about. Trilla was leaned casually against a wall, talking to a younger woman in a technician’s uniform who seemed torn between relaxing slightly into the conversation and taking the first chance to flee. Whatever mundane thing they had decided to converse about had actually manage to draw a short laugh out of the usually cold woman, and something about the sound had him gritting his teeth against each other. He was suddenly struck by the desire to wipe the surprised small smile of the intruder’s face. 

It was only when he saw one gloved hand reach out to casually move a ginger curl off the other woman’s face that he found himself moving. 

“We need to speak,” he spoke flatly as he approached the two, not even sparing the other a glance. 

Trilla didn’t even bother to look at him. 

“It can wait,” she told him casually, still facing the woman, who now had the sense to start looking very nervous at whatever was unfolding in front of her.

“Actually, it can’t.” His fists curled up at the side, anger spiking at her dismissal of him. 

A turn of a head and a raised eyebrow. All signs that he had crossed the silent lines between them, like it was hard to do. With a sigh, she pushed off against the wall, and strode off, not even bothering to look at either of them. With a quick flash of teeth at the intruder (her face turning pale), he stormed off after her. 

The second he was convinced they had some modicum of privacy, he leaned into her, insistently pressing kisses along her jaw. She gave him an unamused look, before running one hand up his back to settle is his hair. With a quick yank, he found himself face to face with her. 

“Care to explain the attitude?” The tone told him that she wasn’t genuinely furious, yet. She would be however, if he didn’t come up with some excuse that she found satisfactory quickly. Determined to keep the truth hidden, he put on his best poker face. 

“There’s no attitude. I just thought- “ 

“Liar.” 

Her other hand settled along his jaw, absentmindedly brushing his jaw as she continued to stare him down. Instinctively leaning into the touch, he made a noise of protest against her words. 

“I’ll ask nicely once more: What is your attitude about?” Lips set in defiance as he stared back, denial still in place. 

A small smile spread across her face, and the hand on his jaw slid down to settle around his throat. He twitched slightly, and her grip in his hair tightened in warning.  
She hummed thoughtfully. “Always so determined to do things the hard way.” The hand around his throat tightened, drawing a slight gasp from his lips. 

When she kisses him, there’s a sense of delirious joy to it. One hand against his back is the only thing keeping him standing, and the pressure against his throat has his head swimming from the lack of oxygen. He isn’t sure whether or not she’s actually going to take it all the way but for a moment, he doesn’t particularly care. 

When the grip disappears, his head is spinning and he practically collapses against her, breathing heavy with a wild sense of giddiness. Not giving himself time to recover, he kisses the underside of her jaw, eyes wide with a feeling of wonder as he whispers the word _jealous_ against her skin. 

“I know,” she laughs, and he laughs too, before crashing to unsteady knees. 

She doesn’t ever let it go, and she doesn’t ever forget the effect it has on him. 

4\. 

She had told him to hold still, or that she would walk away now. Part of him wanted to struggle underneath her hands out of pure insubordination. Another part of him knew that when she got that tone, she was no longer playing. With a soft exhalation, he had dropped his chin against his chest, and allowed her to carefully bind both hands together behind his back. 

Most of their relationship (if you were bold enough to call it that) at this point was this mixture of exhilaration and a healthy dose of fear. This was on another level. Like this, he had no doubt that if she decided that she was bored with him, it would be the end. The survivor in him howled at the concept of being dispatched without a fight, and he blamed that for the slight tremble in his hands as she worked. 

When she finally stepped back, he flexed his wrists experimentally, and found very little leeway. He managed twisted his head slightly to glance at her with slight apprehension and found her watching with a familiar unreadable look. When she met his eyes however, a small smirk appeared on her face. 

“This is a good look for you, brat.” She noted dryly, a small laugh when he twitched instinctively at the word. 

When she steps around him, it’s with the practiced grace of a wild nexu, and there’s something challenging about being the prey she’s set her sights on his. When she steps forward to take his face in her hands, he doesn’t flinch away, eyes up to meet hers from his kneeling position. 

“Brave,” she notes softly, caressing one cheek. 

“Or stupid.” He counters, leaning his head into her touch. 

A rare genuine look of amusement is gone before he can savour it, and she’s crouched to his level, still gently running hands across his skin and leaving a wave of tingling behind.

“Do you think you’re capable of behaving yourself today?” Despite his better judgement, something about the entire situation made him nod silently, pleased when she patted his cheek before stepping back. 

Which is how he had found himself pressing light kisses against the soft scarred skin of her thighs, earning the occasional tug of his hair whenever he felt bold enough to nip more harshly. 

It was only when she growled at him impatiently that he’d lapped experimentally, encouraged by an audible hitching of breath and the tensing of her legs around him. When she rocks instinctively into the sensation, he moans appreciatively against her and that’s the beginning of the end for them. 

She cuts him loose silently while he’s still catching his breath, lip running over his bottom lip in wonder at the taste left there. Part of him had honestly expected her to leave him there. 

There are no words exchanged between them about it after. There didn’t seem to need to be. 

5\. 

He was beautiful like this. 

Sometimes they found themselves like, him arched back gracelessly against the sheets, fingers curled and digging into whatever he found within reach. 

The first time had been an exercise in fear and caution that usually came with their dalliances. It was gone the first time she pushed into him with an experimental roll of her hips, and his head had fallen back with a half-choked moan. 

Trilla fucks like she fights, with a harsh edge and to her own heartbeat. He’s always a willing opponent, always pushing up to meet her, reverence on his face and lips when he’s whining and gasping and pleading with her for more. 

She’s always quieter in comparison, but her nails still leave red angry marks against his hips, or his thighs or his abdomen when the sight of him falling apart and the friction between her legs drives her to the edge. 

When they’re done, they don’t have the energy for their usual antics. He’s content to sprawl against her side while she lazily runs fingers through sweat-soaked ginger hair and murmur praise against the top of his head. He’s always happier with praise, always striving for it and leaning into any given, and in the after glow she’s willing to grant it to him occasionally. 

If they say anything stupid during these times, it’s never brought up again. These moments exist in limbo, in a time when they’re not who they are, and such confessions aren’t a death sentence or each other’s worst fear. 

+1 

She’d been out for at least 24 hours now. It’d been longer since that since he had slept. 

The only thing keeping back the growing sense of fear was imagining what he was going to do when he caught up with the heathens who had decided to set undetected land mines across the threshold of their now abandoned stronghold. Every hour she spent unconscious he swore would be coming out of their skin. 

He’d intertwined his fingers with hers over an hour ago. When the fear of the unknown (of loss) had become too persistent to ignore, he had reached out to take her hand as though she would awaken and pull away with a snarl. It would’ve been preferable. 

The contact was at least some kind of comforting. If he could touch her, she was still there. If she was still there, she was still fighting. Trilla would never let herself lose a fight. The thought was a constant prayer in the back of his head. 

When the next few hours still gave no mercy, and she still stayed silent, a new level of desperation had begun to kick in. There was no real justification to why he was now curled up beside her side like some kind of lost kitten – he told himself that it was simply for protection, that there would be hell to pay if she died on his watch. His hand was still wrapped around hers. 

Sleep only came forcefully. One minute he was watching her steady rate on the medical equipment beside her, and the next minute he was opening his eyes to soft dark hair and an unintelligible murmur. He tried to lift his but found himself anchored by a free hand wrapped within his own hair. Instead, a glance up revealed slightly glazed eyes peering down at him. 

“What’re you doing,” she had murmured, resting her chin against his shoulder. His heart stopped for a second at the question, biting back at sardonic response as he truly looked at her. 

“I just wanted to make sure you were going to be okay,” he admitted softly, tense in preparation for her to recoil or lash out. She blinked sleepily at him. 

“Okay.” With that her head dropped limply again and she held onto him firmly, refusing to let him get up. He found that he didn’t really have a problem with that. 

“’M like you too,” she murmured against the back of his neck. 

He simply squeezed her hand in reply.

**Author's Note:**

> i do not take constructive criticism or kink-shaming. 
> 
> yes, you do in fact have to drug trilla to high hell to get to her be even slightly nice or honest about her emotional state. 
> 
> they are horrible, do not try this at home.


End file.
